Still, in the vast American heartland, where Germans and Scandinavian immigrants brought their baking skills with them, doughnut culture survives.

Anyone curious to test the thesis can follow the horseshoe-shaped route that I have charted in my frequent wanderings along the byways of central Kentucky in recent years, driven by the love of sweet fried dough.

Kentucky does not really belong to the Midwest. But the power of the doughnut has created a lucky overlap. Think of the state, despite its Southern accent and Southern ways, as the paunch hanging over the Midwestern bakery belt, the last calorie-filled province in an enormous swath of territory where the glazed twist, the apple fritter, the chocolate-iced Long John and the vanilla-cream Bismarck hold sway.

There is no maple bacon doughnut on that list. But you can find one at Nord’s Bakery in Louisville, the first stop on the route. ______________________

When Anthony Bourdain's show No Reservations visited the PNW, he had a maple bacon doughnut at Portland's own Voodoo Donuts. I don't eat donuts because of the carbs but I figure Voodoo must be good. I've seen passengers at PDX carrying boxes of them onto planes.